


fake it 'til you make it

by starlard



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Office, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Office Party, Work Husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-28 14:06:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18209309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlard/pseuds/starlard
Summary: Stiles and Derek are getting harassed on both sides, so they decide to fake a relationship in time for the big office party.Also, because they're Stiles and Derek, they get competitive about it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been working on this fic since _October_ guys. It’s because it kept veering over into angst territory and it took me this long to wrestle it firmly into fluff territory again.  
> There’s some sexual harassment in this fic. I try to keep it mild and tell it rather than showing it because I don’t want to trigger anyone, but it's there. Please take care of yourself!

“Okay, see, that? That’s what I’m talking about,” says Stiles, pointing with his spoon. Tom and Kelsi are the office couple, and while they never blatantly broke the rules, they make Stiles want to vomit. Constantly. See? Right now? Their mouths are not on each other’s, exactly, since everybody knows that would be inappropriate, but instead they’re leaning close over their table of—get it— _shared_ food, talking so close they could be a pair of very, very sweet UFC fighters during the weigh-in. 

“Ugh,” says Derek, turning as sallow as his radiant skin tone will allow. 

“I know, I know. But can you imagine them having a fake relationship? No, right? It would be completely impossible, because nobody can talk that close to another person if they’re not dating. Now, people can fake making out, like it’s a hate sex thing, but that—” he points again, and a gob of yogurt hits the table with a smack, “—is true love. Which is what we need people to think, rather than, _‘oh, they might on a date tonight, but betcha they won’t last! I’ll just try again next week!’_ ” 

“And if we’re gross, people won’t ask us too many questions,” adds Derek, getting the gist.

“Yes! Exactly. If they do, I’ll just start going on and on about your sparkling sea-velvet eyes or something. I dunno. Nobody can stand that for long.”

Kelsi feeds a potato chip into Tom’s mouth. Again, not _blatantly_ inappropriate, but it sure feels like it is.

Stiles and Derek cringe in unison.

“Yeah, that might work,” says Derek. “We just can’t make Tom and Kelsi think we’re making fun of them.”

Stiles feels his face go slack in horror. He did not think of that. That would be one level removed from kicking puppies. “Fuck. Absolutely. We’ll be normal around Kommie.”

Derek gives him his best judgey look as he spears a piece of zucchini and puts it in his mouth. Stiles doesn’t even know where Derek _gets_ grilled zucchini at the cafeteria. He suspects that the lunch ladies are as invested in Derek’s health as Derek is. Fair enough.

“No portmanteaus for you, then? What’s even the point of fake-dating?” Stiles throws his spoon on the tray so he can flail in exasperation.

“Getting Kate and Theo to leave us alone,” says Derek evenly. 

“Oh. Oh yeah, that.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles sends flowers to Derek’s desk, unsigned of course, to drum up interest. He chooses bachelor’s buttons, because they’re still technically bachelors and it’s funny, and signs the card “yippee kayay motherfucker” in flowing script. And of course he makes sure he’s on the sales floor (conveniently hidden behind Carl’s cubicle on the other side of the room) when Derek gets the bouquet. It’s everything he dreamed of. Derek rolls his eyes at the flower delivery man, gets exasperated with his coworkers asking him questions, reads the card, and turns to Stiles like he knew he was there the whole time. 

Stiles can’t be 100% sure, but it sure looks like Derek mouths _fuck you _at him and starts blushing at the ears when Brenda asks if she can read his note.__

Stiles drums his hands on Carl’s cubicle wall in satisfaction before he saunters out. Stage one complete.

 

* * *

 

All they really need to do is start rumors that they’re together before everyone sees them the night of the company dinner. It’s much more believable that way. At a place like Argent Securities, that’s astonishingly easy to do. Everybody’s in everybody else’s business, in general, so when Brenda corners Stiles and asks if he’s dating anyone, all Stiles has to say is ‘yes, but it’s still new so I haven’t told anyone yet’ and bat his eyelashes. Brenda gets it. Brenda gets… _everything._

Thanks to trusty ol’ Brenda, the company is buzzing with the news that Stiles and Derek finally got their heads out of their asses, which is an unexpected twist, but joke’s on them, because Stiles’ head is firmly up his… 

Stiles abandons the metaphor and pretends not to hear any more about it.

Theo tries to corner Stiles that day, trying to talk Stiles into sleeping with him, which, first of all. _Nobody_ can talk Stiles into doing something he doesn’t want to do, okay? And second, he’s super patronizing the whole time, like Stiles should be grateful to be harassed like this. 

And third, Theo predicts that Derek is going to friend-zone Stiles as soon as they have sex, which is all kinds of hypocritical in ways that Theo doesn’t seem to care about. Like Theo has been a friend to Stiles ever, at all. 

Stiles nudges Theo, not too gently, out of the way and storms into a hallway that leads nowhere, clenching his fists and breathing harshly. That douche just… he just…

Stiles calls Derek. 

“Hey,” says Derek, brisk and casual. 

Stiles feels like he’s about to drop the phone, he’s shaking so badly, so he concentrates on holding it more securely and taking slower breaths.

“Stiles? Are you alright?”

“Oh, yeah, absolutely. I’m totally...” Stiles stops and sucks in another breath, leaning back against the wall but underestimating the distance so he ends up falling against it with a thump.

“Where are you?” There’s the distant sound of pens clattering like Derek is clearing up his desk and getting ready to find him.

“I’m fine, I just… I’ll be glad when he finally gives up.”

There’s a sigh. Derek already knows what happened, which makes Stiles reconsider how often he goes through this. “Is this how you always feel?”

Stiles slides down the textured wall until he’s sitting on the floor, legs spread over cool gray tiles. “It’s usually not this bad. It’s just… if he heard we’re together but he’s still acting like this, I don’t know what it’s going to take to make him stop.”

“I think you should file a report.” Stiles starts protesting, but Derek cuts him off. “No, really. We know why I can’t report to HR—” Kate’s the head of human resources and he’d probably lose his job through sabotage, “—but if you’ve told him no more than once, and you’re dating someone else, even Josh won’t be able to ignore it.” Josh, also known as Kate’s Good Old Boy who rarely took harassment claims seriously, was also just a scooch homophobic, which in this case might actually help Stiles out.

“I was just hoping this would be over.”

“File the report,” Derek says gently, and Stiles can just picture his serious little face. “Even if Josh doesn’t do anything right away, create the paper trail so that it bites him in the ass eventually.”

“You’re right. I should have done it before.” Stiles groans and hits his head gently against the wall. Ugh. HR paperwork is the worst.

“You want to clock out early with me? Get some chicken parmesan for dinner?”

Stiles smiles at the suggestion. Derek has such a boner for chicken parm. “No, I can last the rest of the day. I’ve got some paperwork to do, anyway.”

Derek’s voice is warm with approval. “Glad to hear it. Put that bastard on notice. And then Thursday night we’ll go to the party and nauseate everyone.”

“That sounds fantastic. I’ll get chicken parm with you after work.”

“Sounds like a deal, Tom.”

“Oh, please, I am obviously Kelsi in this situation,” hisses Stiles into the phone, his hackles rising. “How dare you—aaaand he hung up.” He gapes at the call disconnected icon as it fades from his screen, then puts it down and huffs a laugh. “Tom. As if.”

He hauls himself to his feet, tossing the phone in his hand, before sticking it in his back pocket and setting off to HR.

 

* * *

 

Wednesday comes and goes without Stiles hearing anything about the report he filed. He’s drumming pens on every surface, chewing a pencil, subtly checking if he’s sweating out of his shirt.

He’s a nervous wreck, okay? What if they talked to Theo, and then Theo was like, _nah bruh it wasn’t me,_ and then Theo knows that Stiles reported him? And then what? Straight up murder?

No, don’t be ridiculous, he thinks. There’s probably due process to these sort of things. He really wishes he paid more attention to the seminar they had last spring. Why didn’t he pay attention?

Oh, yeah. Because Kate half-assed everything about it and he was bored out of his mind.

Stiles gets a call on a system that keeps tripping because of some swallows building a nest right next to the sensor, so fortunately, he’s out of the office for most of the day. He goes back just in time to clock out, checks his email for memos.

Nothing.

Derek waves at Stiles in the parking lot, and Stiles just shakes his head. He’s mad. He’s furious.

He feels helpless.

Derek frowns after him, but lets him go.

 

* * *

 

The next day, a delivery guy arrives at 10:15 with a cup of coffee from Stiles’ favorite place, a danish, and a basket covered in layers of cellophane. Stiles hunts for a card and finds it buried in the cellophane, a bright orange envelope with a Hello Kitty sticker holding it closed. And see? That right there tells him, more surely than a signature, that this came from Derek Hale. 

Derek still thinks that he can hide the fact that he’s a marshmallow-hearted man, that a Hello Kitty sticker would be misleading. Uh, no. Stiles is an expert on Derek Hale by now. He knows his moves and countermoves.

The card has Optimus Prime on it, wishing Stiles a Happy ~~Birth~~ _PARTY_ day (‘party’ clearly written in Derek’s shaky, blocky letters) and there’s a two-dollar bill inside, since Stiles told Derek how his grandma always sent two-dollar bills in every card until the day she died. 

Stiles is already grinning ear-to-ear when he opens the basket. At first he thinks the basket is full of squeaky toys, but when he picks up the hand-sized football he realizes they’re all stress balls, like, six of them. Stiles doesn’t even know where Derek got all these. And then there’s a crapload of cheap teabags thrown in, chamomile maybe, and a super old Enya CD. Derek slapped a post-it note on the CD reading “Don’t have a coronary <3”. 

Stiles texts Derek a picture.

**Stiles > i’m gonna tom you so hard tonight**

He has a moment of misgiving because it looks a lot like he said he was going to _top_ Derek and had an unfortunate typo, but Derek gets what he was saying. Of course, he does.

 **Derek > I thought you were Kelsi?**  
  
**Stiles > after this basket you deserve a Tom in ur life**  
  
**Derek > oh bugabear**  
  
Stiles snorts and takes a sip of his coffee, getting back to work with new energy. Tonight no longer seems an eternity away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to party hearty!
> 
> Featuring an obligatory wardrobe scene with Lydia. I really love those for some reason. 
> 
> Also foreshadowing OooOoOOOO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo I was going to try to space out uploading the chapters, but then I finished the whole thing and got impatient. Here's the rest of the fic! Thanks for your comments and kudos! I hope it lives up to your high expectations.

Stiles puts on his party clothes with a ton more nerves than he was originally expecting. It’s a party. It’s a freaking party, and it doesn’t matter what he does, because he’s not even dating Derek, anyway. It doesn’t matter, in the least, what he wears.

The pep talk doesn’t work. He ends up video chatting Lydia, who has insisted on becoming his style guru ever since they went to that homecoming dance together way back in high school. (She ended up getting back together with her ex, like, that night, and Stiles wasn’t mature about it at all. They were both shitty. But somehow them being shitty towards each other put them on equal footing for once, and after apologizing to each other, they became friends. Or squabbling siblings. One or the other.)

Lydia approves a black long-sleeved sweater and jeans, which makes Stiles wonder why he ever called her in the first place. She also insists that it’s a real date, so Stiles says it to her face. “I don’t know why I called you in the first place.”

“Because you’re whipped, Stiles. And now that you have my approval, you’re going to walk into that party and get your hands all over your work husband.”

Stiles speaks slowly, like Lydia’s a first grader. “That would be harassment, which is what we’re trying to avoid, remember?”

“It’s only harassment if Derek doesn’t want you to get all up on that. And he definitely does.”

Stiles stammers and blushes and does _not_ do a good enough job disavowing her of that notion, but only because it’s so absurd, and willfully ignores everything he’s been saying about Derek this whole time, damn. That’s why he’s so flustered Lydia thinks she won. Oh, well. He’ll set her straight tomorrow, when he can brag about a grope-less party.

“I’m calling Scott,” he sniffs. “He supports me.”

“Scott won’t answer, remember? He’s meeting mystery girl’s dad tonight.”

Stiles grits his teeth as he tries to roll up his sleeve with one hand and support his phone on his shoulder. “Ugh. Right. Have you called him out on meeting the parents before we meet her? Because I sure have, and nothing got through. I feel like his brain is made of rubber. Like, high-density ballistics-grade. It could stop bullets, that thing.”

“Scott has his own reasons.”

“Wait a minute. _He told you?_ ” Stiles finds that he is scowling at himself in the mirror and turns away. He doesn’t deserve that dirty look. Lydia does. Scott definitely does.

He’ll save it for them.

“Make sure you touch Derek’s butt byeeeee,” sings Lydia, and she hangs up.

“You deserve none of this treatment,” Stiles reassures his reflection, and grabs his keys.

 

* * *

 

Stiles pulls in to his regular parking spot, right next to Derek’s sexy, sexy Camaro. He ignores its owner in lieu of bending over the Camaro’s hood and crooning to it. “Hey, baby mama. I’ve missed you so, so much. It’s been way too long since Derek’s let you out to play.”

Derek clears his throat and turns pink. “Uh, it was getting dusty in the garage, so—”

“So you decided to sell your sensible mom car once and for all, doing us and the universe a favor,” finishes Stiles, patting the hood lovingly. 

“First of all, that ‘mom car’ gets a third the gas mileage as the Camaro, so the day I get rid of the Toyota is the day you start paying for my gas,” starts Derek, already getting wound up, like Stiles knew he would. “Second—”

“Derek, Derek, Derek, Derek, Derek, Derek,” says Stiles in what he hopes is a beguiling manner, drowning out Derek’s well-rehearsed reasons until he stops. “I know everything you’re about to say, just—come here.” He grabs Derek by the suit jacket, and Derek follows with ill grace. “I’m about to blow your argument out of the water. Just stand here, and look at what I’m looking at.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I’m looking.”

“And?”

“And what? I’m waiting for your argument.”

Stiles sticks his arms straight and does jazz hands. “This is my argument! No other argument needed!” Seriously, why is Derek pretending he doesn’t know his car is art? He obviously knows. It’s freshly washed.

Derek finally cracks and chuckles. “You’re ridiculous.”

“That sounds like something a person who just lost a fight would say.”

Derek takes him by the shoulders and steers him across the parking lot toward the shiny, glassy building of Argent Securities. “Oh, baby. Our first fight,” he mutters, and he’s close enough that Stiles can feel a puff of breath across the back of his neck, and something about it makes Stiles’ hackles raise. But not in an angry way. Like in a flustered arou—

Nope, nope. Stiles _cannot_ let himself be like this. He’s almost in over his head as it is, what with the deception and the Theo Problem and the Kate Problem. No sexy hackles are allowed. No feelings are to be acknowledged this night. Not until he’s safely home and crying into the world’s biggest plate of microwave nachos.

Stiles is the world’s Grade A expert on dealing with Feelings. More specifically, on squashing them down. He’s got this. He’s been in training for this day.

He turns around and grins at Derek, walking backwards and taking him by the hands. He knows Derek will warn him before he brains himself on a pole or something. “I, for one, think that we resolved the fight in a mature, healthy manner, and it means a lot to me that you apologized first.”

Derek pulls him to a stop just as they walk under the overhang, and they get passed by a couple of the computer people on their way in. “So you’re ready to do this?” asks Derek, looking down at their hands. He’s talking softly so they won’t be overheard, and it’s not the way they usually talk to each other.

“Absolutely,” says Stiles, hoping his heart doesn’t beat straight out of his chest. That would be very awkward, for everyone. Blood, just, everywhere. 

“Who are we going to nauseate first?” Derek’s not laughing, but he wants to. Stiles can tell because of the dimples. Stiles knows Derek’s dimples like the back of his hand. His face dimples, that is. If Derek has back dimples, then—

Stiles cuts off his inner monologue. “Hmm. I’d say Brenda, because she’d tell everyone, but I don’t know if grossing her out is even possible.”

“How about you try to horrify Brenda, and I’ll try to horrify Kelsi and Tom?”

Stiles gasps. “You’re saying we make this a competition? Each trying to do the impossible?”

“I mean, if you don’t think you can win, then—”

“Screw you, Hale. I’ve got Brenda. She’s going to be so grossed out, she won’t look me in the eye tomorrow.”

Derek smiles at him. Game on.

See? He’s got this. Take that, Feelings.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Queen of Dimples is here!
> 
> Actually, pretty much every girl on Teen Wolf has dimples, so I'll let you guess who it is. 
> 
> p.s. If this is your first fic of the day, you definitely figured out she was gonna be here in the last chapter. If you've been reading for seven hours in an eye-bleeding stupor it's okay! We've all been there.
> 
> p.p.s. or you could look at the tags I GUESS

They walk onto the elevator holding hands, standing side by side as a rush of people presses in around them. Nobody’s noticed yet. Stiles has to restrain himself from raising his arm and shaking Derek’s arm around like he’s a champion. Everyone’s here tonight, even the workers from the branch across town, along with their significant others. It’s the five-year anniversary of the day Chris Argent took over and saved his father’s company from going bankrupt. Maybe the circumstances don’t seem right for a party, but given that his dad ran away with a ton of company funds and is reportedly living in the Cayman Islands, nobody really misses crusty old Gerard Argent.

“Derek! I’m surprised you don’t have a plus one!” says a chipper brunette from Derek’s floor, looking hopeful. 

“Uh, Stiles is my—is my plus one.”

Stiles doesn’t know why Derek’s stammering, but it’s a good touch. Stiles waves at the brunette and gives her a slightly sympathetic smile. He knows that feel, girl. Derekhaleitis is the worst.

“Oh. Oh! That’s so fantastic!” The girl goes from looking wistful to excited in a flash. She punches Derek in the arm. “Nice job.”

Stiles looks from one to the other. Derek is looking down at his feet and a shade of pink that not even Stiles has seen before. Not the response he was expecting.

The elevator dings, and they shuffle out onto the floor where Argent Securities holds conferences and shows off their tech or whatever. Stuff Stiles doesn’t have to know about. But it’s flashy, and roomy, and somehow like 200 people are fitting inside, along with what looks like a wedding banquet but like, a _delicious_ one. There’s a deejay, and an ice sculpture of the company logo, and a chocolate fountain, and—

“Derek,” Stiles breathes, tugging on their slightly clammy hands. “Derek, there’s brisket.”

Derek’s head snaps in its direction more surely than a basset hound on the hunt. “ _Yes_ ,” he growls, and they speedwalk there together, bumping into each other in their haste when they have to edge around groups of talking people, pulling each other along by the hand until they reach the promised land.

Yes, they have an agenda for tonight. But, c’mon. They’re only human.

 

* * *

 

Stiles is eating his damn brisket and having a very nice time, thank you, when it comes crashing down. 

Because he sees Josh from HR. Talking to Kate. And Theo. 

The unholy trinity of douchebags.

They’re laughing and clinking glasses like they just caused the next American economic recession. 

“Ohhhhhh, fuck,” Stiles whimpers. He almost drops his plate. He is not ready for this. Neither of them are.

“Why is Josh talking to...” starts Derek, but realization sets in, and he slumps. “Oh, no.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think this is why he didn’t—?”

“Yeah.”

“What are we going to do?” Derek snags a waiter and gives her both their plates, then guides Stiles so they’re both sitting in chairs against the nearest wall. 

“I don’t, I don’t…” Stiles feels weary in a way he does his best to avoid. “What are they doing together? Do you think he just threw the file out?”

“Oh, he definitely threw it out,” says a snarky, cutting voice. The kind of voice that makes you want to curl up and move to another state, but also punch the owner, maybe both. Stiles can barely look at Theo. “After all, Josh knows I would _never_ cheat on him like that.”

“What.”

“Well, it’s nothing official, because he’s not out, you know,” shrugs Theo, and he’s wearing an entire tux because he’s an uberdouche, sticking his hands in his pockets. “But sometimes you can just tell, right? Like, the lady doth protest too much, am I right? And everyone thought he was just homophobic.”

“Does this mean you’re going to leave me alone from now on?” Stiles asks the floor. He feels Derek’s hand on his back, rubbing up and down.

“Ha. We’ll see,” says Theo. 

Stiles doesn’t hear anything after that, so he looks up.

“He’s gone,” says Derek. 

Stiles slumps over again, letting his breath out slowly and shaking his head. “What the fuck,” he says. “Why does he affect me like this. Why can’t I just ignore it.”

“Because he’s bullying you, first and foremost,” grumbles Derek. “And he’s figured out that sex is a way to do it.”

Stiles glances at him, smiles wryly. “Put some thought into it, have you?”

“I might know the type.” Derek scowls in Kate’s direction. “If he—if he does that again, do you want—can I...?”

“Get all aggressive-boyfriend-protector on him?” Stiles imagines it and shrugs. “Can’t hurt, at this point.”

“Good.”

Stiles wants to shiver at the tone of Derek’s voice. Yeah, that’s something he wouldn’t mind seeing. Derek could throw Theo through a wall if he wanted.

“You know what we need?” says Stiles, kicking Derek’s foot. 

“Brownies?”

“I was going to say we need to find Brenda, but brownies work too.”

 

* * *

 

Brenda is _ecstatic_. She calls everyone from her company book club to come look at how cute they are, wasn’t she just saying they would be perfect if they’d just get their heads out of their behinds, she saw this coming a mile away.

Her joy is spreading, but Stiles is getting a sour feeling in his stomach. It’s _not_ because he’s drowning in a pool of wistfulness. It’s because he doesn’t know how they could possibly disgust Brenda without resorting to actual indecency, duh. He’s going to lose. 

Stiles does not lose! Stiles wins!

So he turns it up to number eleven, and he clings to the bottom hem of Derek’s blazer, and he gets him all the IPAs Derek wants because _I know what you like, boo,_ and he dabs at Derek’s lips with a napkin, making all the old ladies coo.

And because Derek isn’t going to just let that stand, he smiles dotingly at Stiles, and says thank you the way his mother taught him, and follows him around like a baby duckling. And he asks, innocently, where Kelsi and Tom are.

They couldn’t make it, apparently. Tom’s cousin is in the hospital and they’re hosting the entire family.

“That is such a shame,” says Stiles, petting Derek’s arm from shoulder to wrist, desperately trying to make Derek crack up. “We were hoping to ask them for dating advice.”

Derek gently steps on Stiles’ foot. 

“Oh, I’m sure they would love to take you out to dinner sometime!” Brenda reassures them, and her friend nods. 

“That is a fabulous idea. What do you think, Derbear?” Stiles looks into Derek’s eyes. They’re practically touching noses.

“I’ll call them tomorrow. After all, they kind of inspired us to get together in the first place,” says Derek, and he actually boops their noses together. Stiles is still trying to uncross his eyes when Derek turns to Brenda. “You don’t mind if I take Stiles out to the dance floor, do you?”

Brenda flaps her hands approvingly.

“Oh but sweetface, I don’t think there’s a dance floor here,” says Stiles through gritted teeth. He did _not_ sign up for dancing, of all things. At a fucking _corporate event._

“We’ll just have to make our own, then,” says Derek, smirking at him and leading the way.

That _asshole_. That fucking romantic asshole. Stiles is not supposed to be losing at this. 

There really isn’t a dance floor. There’s a semi-open space by the veggie table, though, so Derek stops there, twirls Stiles into his arms, and they start that kind of slow-dancing that’s really just shuffle-hugging. The deejay is playing vintage Avril Lavigne. It is not romantic, in the least.

And yet.

Once they have their arms around each other, Stiles feels like he can breathe. Like he’s strong, and safe, and not alone in any way. Like he can think clearly.

He thinks he’s in love with Derek.

 

* * *

 

Derek has these eyes, okay? They’re like, what a galaxy looks like once it’s been recolored to have all the pretty colors and not just boring shades of brown. They’re mint-colored and sky-colored and there are little flashes of gold in there, just so you think, oh wow, the green in his eyes is _really_ green. They’re kinda like Rihanna’s. 

And his hair is just _perfect_. It’s dark, and thick, and he doesn’t have any weird cowlicks like Stiles does, and his 2-o-clock stubble looks like it was drawn by a comic book artist, and he has hair on his arms but only like, the forearms, not weird places like the underside of his bicep.

And Stiles has been relying on him for his sanity for almost two years now. Because Derek gets Stiles’ sense of humor, and exactly when to look into each other’s eyes the way Jim looks into the camera in The Office, because their coworkers are doing something unbearably weird or annoying. 

Also, Derek was there for Stiles when his dog died. They buried Daisy together. That might mean something, right? 

And Derek doesn’t want to live in Beacon Hills, his heart belongs to New York, but he’s always going to live in Beacon Hills because his nephew and his niece are here. He puts his family first, always.

Stiles rests his head on Derek’s shoulder, the perfect height, and dances quietly. In his head, he’s screaming _fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._

Stiles is definitely in love with Derek.

 

* * *

 

“Dude!”

Stiles is broken out of his trance, and he jolts upright. Sadly, this forces him away from Derek and his comfy chest.

“Scott? What are you doing here?”

“Surprise!” Scott is wearing, wow, a real suit, Stiles didn’t know he had one, and Scott kind of squats down and throws his hands out. “Stiles, I want you to meet somebody.”

Stiles gapes in realization. “Mystery girl works here? Is _that_ why you told Lydia but not me?”

“Told Lydia? No, bro, you’re first! And she doesn’t work here.” Scott pulls a girl forward, a thin brunette with a sparkly smile and long eyelashes. “I want you to meet Allison Argent.”

Mystery girl, Allison Argent, waves shyly at Stiles. She’s wearing this ruffly off-the-shoulder red dress and somehow doesn’t look evil in it.

Stiles gapes at Scott. “Dude.” _She’s so pretty._

“I know!” _Scott knows._

“Dude!” _She’s way out of Scott’s league._

“I know!” _Scott knows._

Stiles grabs Scott by the hands and they jump around like the fools that they are.

“Is this going to go on for long?” He hears Allison ask Derek.

“I can never tell,” groans Derek, crossing his arms. 

“You’ve been dating this girl for weeks! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” exclaims Stiles, still butt-hurt, to be honest.

“I didn’t even know her dad was your boss until Monday when she invited me to this thing! And then we had to surprise you.” Scott starts doing a dumb two-step to the music and he actually looks handsome, damn him.

“Scott. The name of my company is Argent Securities.”

“I know, I just thought it meant strong, you know? Like when you love someone argently.”

“Ardently, but close,” Stiles concedes with an affectionate smile. Scott definitely studied up on his SAT words back in the day, but ten years later, the execution is a little spotty.

Suddenly, Scott punches Stiles in the arm, hard enough it goes a little dead.

“Ow!”

“That’s for not telling me you were dating Derek! Hi, Derek.”

“Hi, Scott,” says Derek, rolling his eyes a bit. Derek always tries to act a little too cool for school around Scott. Stiles thinks it’s adorable. 

“There were extenuating circumstances,” whines Stiles, swinging his arm in a circle and trying to get the feeling back. 

“Oh, I gotta say hi to someone,” says Allison, wincing a little as she catches someone’s eye. “The burden of being the boss’s daughter. I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere, okay? We’re going to hang out all night.” She’s already on her way, waving a quick goodbye.

“Deal,” hollers Stiles, and he turns to Scott. “I like her.”

“Yeah, yeah. So are you guys dating now?” Scott looks from Derek to Stiles and back again.

Derek and Stiles try to have a telepathic conversation. They did not foresee this circumstance. Should they tell Scott? They should tell Scott, right?

“We’re not actually dating,” Stiles hisses at the exact moment Derek mumbles “No, we’re not.”

And yeah, the moment is kinda heartbreaking, but Stiles also high-fives Derek because that was some real telepathy, right there.

Derek looks grumpy, but sometimes his face is just like that.

“I don’t understand,” says Scott. “You were like, dancing. Stiles hates dancing.”

Stiles moves closer to Scott so he can lower his voice. “We thought if we faked a relationship, then Theo and Kate would leave us alone. So far, it’s not working yet, but we’ve still got to give it the good old college try.”

“Wait, Theo’s here?” Scott looks out across the crowd like he’s about to go all John Cena on the guy. 

“Shh. Yes. And apparently he’s banging the HR guy, so the report I filed against him got shredded.”

“What!” 

“Shh!” Stiles hisses at him more forcefully. 

Scott finally brings it down to an aggressive whisper. “This is bullshit, Stiles!”

“I know that! I am very aware of that!”

“What’s your plan?”

“Well, since we found this out like half an hour ago, we haven’t really gotten around to a plan yet.”

“And the person bothering you is someone named Kate?” Scott turned his focus on Derek.

Derek wilted a little bit. “Yes. We, uh. We kind of had a thing a few years ago, and now she’s trying to start something again.”

“She’s actually the really inappropriate one, here,” adds Stiles. “Like, really really.”

“Why don’t you report her?”

“Kate Argent,” is all Derek says.

“Oh, fuck,” says Scott.

Stiles gestures to the room. “You see our problem, right?”

“Well, why don’t you tell Chris? He seems like a nice guy.”

Derek’s eyebrows just go up, and Stiles is laughing a trifle hysterically. “Haha! Tell Chris! Oh, Scott, you joker. I’ve never even met the guy. Not all of us are taking his daughter on sweet, innocent dates. Besides, say what? ‘Hi, dude, thanks for hiring me. By the way, your sister has been goosing my best friend at work and we’d really like it to stop?’ I’d never get past his secretary.”

“I could get you past his secretary,” says a fourth voice, and everything moves in horrible slow-motion as the three of them turn and see Allison standing there with a glass of champagne in each hand and a steely clench to her jaw.

“Oh, hi, Allison,” says Stiles weakly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of Stiles and Derek having their first dance to Avril Lavigne was just too funny to pass up. I couldn't even choose which one.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison and Chris show their relation to Samwise Gamgee.

“For the record, I don’t know if I believe you or not about Kate,” says Allison once they’ve rehashed everything for her benefit. “I’ve known her all my life. She’s like my big sister. The only reasons I’m going to say anything are that if there’s even the smallest chance of it being true, we have to look into it.”

“And?” prompts Stiles. “You said reasons. Plural reasons.”

“And,” Allison sighs, “Kate’s always bragging that our company has the lowest rate of HR infractions in the state. She says it’s because a woman’s in charge, but at the moment that sounds like a perfect coincidence. If Stiles says his paperwork’s been thrown out intentionally, you guys probably aren’t the only ones who have been harassed.”

“Thank you,” says Derek. The look on his face is heartbreaking, like he doesn’t expect anything to come of it, but he’ll say thanks all the same. He’s such a boy scout. 

“I’ll talk to my dad tonight, after the party,” Allison promises. “Don’t worry, guys. We’ll to get to the bottom of this.”

Stiles groans. “I think we’re going to need more brownies.”

 

* * *

 

Kate sees them talking with her niece. Of course she does. She waits until Allison and Scott get dragged away for an introduction to swoop in, Draco Malfoy-style.

“I see you’re bringing Allison into this,” she says, clutching a beer in one hand and flipping her hair around like a 90’s movie cheerleader. “I’m sure you’ve already told her your sob story. It must be so hard to be so beautiful,” she pouted, talking like a toddler.

Stiles doesn’t say anything, waiting to see how Derek’s going to respond, but he does angle his body so he’s standing between them a little bit.

“What do you want, Miss Argent?” Derek bites out, and Stiles reaches back and tangles their fingers again. They’ve been doing it so much that night, it’s begun to feel like second nature.

Kate scoffs. “Miss Argent. You know, I thought you were more of a man than this, running to my niece over a little office flirtation. If you can’t take a little teasing, maybe Argent Securities isn’t the place for you.” Her eyes slide over to Stiles. “Same goes for your tag-along.”

“Boyfriend,” corrects Stiles.

“Oh, I don’t think you are. I mean, kudos on holding hands in public, your frat bros will be so impressed. I’ll believe you when you kiss. Come on, Derek. We both know you like women a little too much to be gay.”

“I’m bisexual,” says Derek, his brows crowding together, and Stiles narrows his eyes. Did she really not know that?”

“I’m calling your bluff,” Kate shrugs with a brilliant smile. “Kiss him, now, if you’re sooo into dudes.”

“We’re together,” says Derek, and he actually sounds confident. “And asking us to kiss in order to prove it is inappropriate.”

And the fact that Derek called her on her shit so quickly, in a public place, makes Stiles fucking proud. He squeezes Derek’s hand. 

Kate is already rolling her eyes and sipping from her beer, looking bored out of her mind, and Stiles is not about to have that. Derek just told her off, and it was concise and direct and perfect, and there’s no way Stiles is going to let this moment go to waste.

“It’s _highly_ inappropriate!” he bursts out, and he doesn’t even care if Brenda hears. “Like, first of all, assuming that we have to be a couple in order for you to stop bad-touching a co-worker is ridiculous. ‘No’ means the same thing, whether it comes from somebody who’s single or taken. He doesn’t want you. Get over it. Second, we’re not here for you to get your voyeuristic giggles, okay? If and when I kiss Derek, it will be something that only concerns the two of us, with absolutely nothing to do with you.”

“Especially at a work function,” adds Derek, who was looking at Stiles like he agreed 100% with his last statement. Good. No way were they crossing that line for the sake of a farce. 

“Thank you! Especially at a work function. This isn’t the school hallway of your middle school, where you can order people to kiss to prove a point. And this isn’t some creepy basement birthday party with all the kids playing spin the bottle. And this isn’t a been-there-done-that rom-com where—”

Derek clears his throat.

Stiles’ face feels hot, verging on sweaty. He might have gotten a little worked up. “Right. What I’m saying is, you are in a position of power at this company, and with that comes great responsibility. That’s right, I said the thing, but it applies. And the fact that you would abuse that by harassing Derek, then threatening both of us with losing our jobs—”

“Is there a problem here, gentlemen?” a cool voice cuts in, and Stiles feels real, goosebump-inducing chills.

He turns to see Chris Argent, CEO of Argent Securities, standing next to Kate and watching both him and Derek with a skeptical eye. Shit. Shit shit shit.

Kate cocks her hip and smiles knowingly behind her beer bottle. “That’s what I’d like to know,” she says, twisting her lips into a blatant dare.

Stiles wants to take it back. He’s ready to take it all back in the face of Mr. Argent’s Iditarod-blue eyes, he doesn’t know why he even came to this—

“On March 23, 2018,” Derek answers, his voice tight with control, “Miss Argent pushed me against a refrigerator, touched my buttocks and told me she would, quote, ‘Have that ass again’.”

Derek’s not looking anyone in the eye, and he’s shaking a bit, but the grip on Stiles’ hand is strong as ever. Stiles grips back just as tightly. He’s in awe, at this moment, and he can’t wait to get Derek out of here and feed him a lifetime supply of chicken parmesan. And drape a blanket around his shoulders and play that stupid Enya CD. 

There’s a silence that doesn’t belong at parties—the deejay is still playing top 40 hits, but everyone in a fifteen-foot radius is clearly listening in.

Chris’s eyes flick around the circle, and over to where Allison is linked, arm-in-arm, with Scott. He looks very tired. “We’re finishing this in my office,” he says. Without waiting for acknowledgement, he turns and walks out.

Kate just looks annoyed, like a teenager who just lost their phone privileges. 

Allison detaches from Scott and motions for Derek and Stiles to follow her. “I’ll show you to his office,” she says, and they’re moving.

Scott keeps pace with Stiles and pats him on the shoulder. “Just tell him everything, and you’ll be fine.”

“You planned this,” Stiles hisses in horror.

Scott shrugs and grins. “All I did was mention that my best friend worked here, and he wanted to meet you. I think their family’s just good at eavesdropping.”

“Apparently,” Stiles grumbles as Scott falls behind. 

They’re in the lobby in front of the elevator now, desperately trying to ignore Kate as she taps her foot impatiently. They can still hear the music inside the event room, and the babble of all their coworkers talking about them, no doubt. Derek is shutting down again, Stiles can see it, so he pulls him away while they wait for the elevator. 

“Hey,” he says softly. “You were incredible in there.”

Derek just shakes his head like he doesn’t know what got into him.

“Really,” Stiles insists, and he takes Derek’s other hand. “That was some real Kelsi mojo.”

Derek still looks wounded, but he snorts, like it’s against his will. 

Stiles distantly hears Kate start scoffing, and Allison trying to shut her up, but his focus is on Derek right now. He lifts his hands so one is on Derek’s shoulder and the other is on the side of his face, hoping that he’s not crossing any boundaries. This is not normal friendly co-worker behavior. This feels real.

Derek catches the hand on his cheek before Stiles can pull it away, and presses into it, taking a long, slow breath.

“Whatever happens in there,” says Stiles, catching his gaze one more time, “I’ve got your back.”

Derek nods minutely. “Same here.”

“Uh… Stiles?” 

Stiles turns, and Allison and Kate are already loaded into the elevator, waiting for them. Allison’s holding the door open, and she smiles at them apologetically.

“Come on,” says Derek, and they walk into the elevator together.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *holds up a boombox playing '[Still the One](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KNZH-emehxA)' by Shania Twain*

The ordeal that happens next isn’t something Stiles really likes to talk about, or think about, for that matter. It’s messy, and awkward, and he hates the way it makes him feel like a whiny victim, even though he knows he’s not. And he hates the way Derek folds into himself whenever Kate says something flippant, and how Josh and Theo are pretending to be confused by the situation, and…

Well, that’s enough said about that.

There is, however, one thing he might hold close until his dying day, and it’s the way he and Derek back each other up. They sit shoulder-to-shoulder, knee-to-knee, in those ubiquitous rolling chairs and don’t falter as they lay it all out for their boss.

It feels good to watch out for each other like this, them against the world. They’re partners in this. Stiles feels lighter than he should, and Derek doesn’t look like there’s a mountain of weight resting on his shoulders, either. 

So that’s one good thing that comes out of this meeting. 

Well, okay, there are a few other things that are also pretty awesome.

Exhibit one: Chris’s face when Kate loses her temper and says, “You’re taking this way too seriously, big brother. Dad never had a problem with it.”

It takes a monumental amount of effort for Stiles to stop himself from crowing, _’Oh shit!’_ and throwing his hands in the air. He settles for letting his eyes bug out and very carefully not looking at Derek, because if he does, he’ll lose every last ounce of composure.

Exhibit two: Kate’s face when Chris responds by calling security and having her escorted out the building. Like, that’s a 90’s movie level of vindication, right there. Everyone should have the satisfaction of watching their mortal enemy get escorted out by security. Stiles will be telling this story at parties for years.

Exhibit three: Josh getting peeved that Theo is ignoring him (and Stiles honestly forgot they were in the room during the whole security thing, oops) and flipping him off before he folds like a bad hand and tells Chris everything.

Which results in Chris banning Josh and Theo to a nearby conference room so they can “discuss what’s going to happen next,” and the looks on their faces, just—mm. Very satisfying.

Well, Stiles totally would appreciate this moment, but it’s getting close to midnight now and he just wants to smush his face against Derek’s chest and go to sleep. Yes, Stiles promised himself he wouldn’t objectify Derek like this, but he’s tired and that’s honestly all he can think about at the moment.

He thinks fondly of slow-dancing with Derek next to the vegetable bar, the way he felt both safe and strong, how Derek looked straight into his eyes with his serious face on…

“Mr. Stilinski?”

“Mhuh?” Stiles jerks his head to where Chris Argent is leaning back in his chair and looking at him with an exasperated sort of humor. 

“I was saying you can both go home and rest now. Be assured we will take your claims seriously, but any evidence you can submit would be greatly appreciated.”

“Office chat,” says Derek, looking drained as Stiles felt.

“Oh my gosh, I forgot about the office chat,” whispers Stiles in awe. Of course. They bitched about _everything_ in that office chat. There’s bound to be something incriminating against Theo or Kate, hopefully both. Derek’s a genius, but Stiles already knew that.

Chris stands up, and Stiles and Derek see that as their signal to stand as well. Chris smoothly ushers them to the door. “Whatever you can think of. I’m sorry our company let you down. I’m trying to make Argent Securities a safe place for everybody who works here, and I _will_ ,” Chris emphasizes, looking them both in the eye, “do everything in my power to ensure human resources does its job properly in the future.”

“Yessir,” says Stiles, listing a bit to the side but still getting out the door with no trouble. 

Derek is close behind. “Thank you for listening, sir.”

Chris raises his eyebrows at being called ‘sir’, but he doesn’t seem to hate it. “That’s my job. Now get out of here.”

 

* * *

 

It’s five past midnight when they finally trudge out of the office. “Wow,” says Stiles.

“Yeah.”

Stiles summons a weak smile for Derek. “We’re talking like me and Scott now.”

“Efficient.”

“Right?” 

The parking lot is mostly empty now, a vast wasteland of asphalt and electric lights, and the night has chilled enough that Stiles shivers. 

Scott and Allison get up from a bench near the entrance and come their way with worried expressions. 

Stiles lets himself close his eyes and enjoy the hug from Scott, and then Allison. Scott’s an expert at hugs, and Allison is right up to par. “I’m so sorry this happened to you,” Allison says in his ear, and she moves back just enough to speak to both of them. “I just talked to my dad on the phone. He wants to give you a better apology when he has the whole story and can do it right. He’s tried so hard to fix this company after my grandpa messed it up. He feels terrible that neither of you got the help you needed.”

“Thanks, Allison,” says Derek, and he opens his arms so she can give him the hug she clearly wants. Stiles is surprised at that, since Derek doesn’t open up to new people easily, but it hasn’t been a typical night for any of them.

“So what are you guys doing now? What do you need?” asks Scott, his face tense with concern.

“I feel like I’ve been through the wringer,” says Stiles, clapping him on the shoulder in thanks. “I think I just need food and sleep.” He looks at Derek, automatically, and finds him nodding.

Scott replies a beat too slowly, looking from Stiles to Derek and back again. “Yeah, I’m sure you do. Ally and I will just go home, then. Take it easy, okay guys?”

They say goodbye, making plans to all get dinner that weekend, and Stiles and Derek walk through the parking lot in step. The parking lot lights are bright, throwing everything into sharp relief and shadows, and the only sound is the smattering of cars driving on the street. 

Stiles sticks his hands in his pockets. He’s overwhelmed. There’s relief, that he’ll finally be free of Theo, and Derek free of Kate. There’s still anger and helplessness left over from the past couple months, and he doesn’t know how long it will take to go away. He’s hungry. He’s tired. And he doesn’t know how he can come to work tomorrow and look at Derek and not immediately blurt out that he loves him.

“Stiles?”

Stiles looks up and realizes they’ve stopped, and they’re standing between their two cars. He rouses himself, hiding his thoughts. “Oh, hey. Here already. Wow, how lucky were we tonight, huh? Scott’s dating the boss’s daughter.” He laughs. “You’re dating the guy who’s best friends with the guy dating the boss’s daughter.” He thinks about what he said and how it sounded, and steps back in misgiving. “Not that we’d have to date for Scott and Allison to help us out, we don’t have to date, we’re not actually dating I know that—”

Derek suddenly steps forward so he’s standing much closer than before. “Dating’s on the table, though?”

“Yeah, well, obviously,” says Stiles, not thinking.

Derek smiles for the first time in hours, the real smile that crinkles his eyes and brings out his dimples and makes his ears move slightly up with the force of it. “So can I take you out tomorrow night?”

“You can take me out anytime.” Stiles is still soaking in the sight of a happy Derek Hale and it’s got him feeling a little loopy with how badly he needed it.

Derek starts to reply, and stops as a new thought comes to him. “I don’t want to wait until tomorrow night, but I’m really tired,” he says hopefully.

“Ooh la la, Mr. Hale! You want an office-appropriate sleepover?” Stiles dances a little bit, just to be ridiculous. 

Derek slides their hands together and pulls Stiles even closer, kissing him on the temple and sliding his lips over to Stiles’ ear. “Well, maybe we can leave the office at the office.”

They move together in perfect sync, their lips finding each other in a slow, simple kiss. Then Derek kind of shudders, and Stiles finds himself backed against the door of his Jeep, which he is very, very okay with. He does his best to jump Derek, hitching his leg up and scratching his fingers up and down Derek’s back and Derek’s just _going to town_ on his tongue, and it’s seriously the hottest—

“Go home, boys,” they hear, and jump apart to find Chris walking by with what can only be described as a _tired dad_ look on his face. “Send your text messages and emails to my secretary tomorrow, but I don’t want to see you until Monday.”

“Yes, sir,” says Derek instantly.

“Yeah, no problem,” echoes Stiles. “Thank you.” He winces.

Chris just shakes his head and keeps moving. 

“Thank you?” Derek raises one eyebrow.

“What? He’s giving us the day off! I was being polite!”

“You’re clearly thanking him because you’re planning on using all day tomorrow to—” Derek stops himself and starts blushing.

“To what? What are you thinking?” teases Stiles. “Get a haircut? Go to the bank?”

“Nevermind,” huffs Derek, grumping his way around the front of the Camaro and getting in. 

“You know, I _do_ need to go to the post office. And I have a bunch of overdue library books that—”

Derek rolls down the window on the passenger side so he can glare out of it. “Stiles. Are you getting in or not?” 

Stiles looks at his trusty Jeep and contemplates driving it, because if he doesn’t drive it this second it’s probably going to stay here until Monday.

Everyone’s going to know why it’s there, after the way they were acting tonight. 

It’s fine. Their parking lot has a security guard. Also, _Camaro_.

“Okay,” says Stiles, getting in and caressing the dash, “but just so you know, that wouldn’t have worked if you were driving the Toyota.”

“Whatever you say, bugabear.” Derek nuzzles his nose against Stiles’, making him cackle, and he starts the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that just UGH just killed me. Because I felt the need to address how shitty the situation is to be in, but then the word count kept growing and growing and I realized this fluffy fake relationship comedy was turning into 80% sexual harassment meetings and that was NOT happening today Satan! So if you feel like I'm skimming through the good meaty drama to get to the happy you're 100% correct. 
> 
> (On a scale of unicorn cupcakes (1) to apocalypse (5) what's your ideal level of angst? I feel like I need to explore my dark side some more in the future but I don't wannaaaaaa. Maybe you can talk me into it.)
> 
> The challenge for me on this fic was to try out present tense because I h a t e it. Please tell me in a comment if I slipped up and accidentally switched to past tense so I can fix it!
> 
> Next I PROMISE to finally write a fic with Derek’s POV. I have a few in the works, but they’re all turning into beasts so it might be a while.  
> Thanks so much for reading! <3 I love you all!


End file.
